


fame and fortune

by starryshatter



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Age Difference, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Humor, HunHan - Freeform, I promise it's not that bad, Light Angst, Lu Han is Done With Sehun's Shit, Luhan has a potty mouth, M/M, Mentions of Red Velvet, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, Oh Sehun is a Brat, Oh Sehun is a Little Shit, POV Alternating, Rating May Change, aroace soo, blonde luhan, brunet sehun, but this will change winkwink, dense sehun, dunno if that counts as underage but i don’t even know if there will be smut yet, exo is just the chinguline, famous au, hunhan are bi, i know it's slow but bear with me, idol!sehun, implied chanbaek, kailay if you squint, kris tao and suho are barely in this i'm sorry, luhan is 21 but 22-23 in korea, luhan is a spoiled fashionista but he gets the humbling of his lifetime, manager!luhan, sehun is 17 but 18-19 in korea, sehun is more spoiled than luhan and very much a brat, side xiuchen - Freeform, slowburn, there's a sort of rape attempt but it doesn't get that far, xiuhan are best bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-23 15:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13790586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryshatter/pseuds/starryshatter
Summary: Luhan throws up on the lap of the man-child who is now technically his boss.This is his life now, he supposes.or alternatively:idol!sehun x manager!luhan





	1. life sucks but such is life

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: hello! this is my first work here on ao3 :) anyways, i have no clue whether i'll be adding smut. the majority of this fic is done, but needs a LOT of fine tuning. updates should be uhh, weekly? and there will be around 10-12 chapters. i might condense each chapter once i'm done (meaning, i will shorten the chapter count). i have no beta reader ;-; if you find yourself liking this fic and you are a good beta reader, feel free to send a comment. i'm not a diehard hunhan shipper but i just found they fit the personalities of the characters i had in mind so :> lmao i actually love sekai and xiuhan too so don't hurt meee. there might be some xiuhan but i assure you it's purely platonic no homo there :P drop a kudos if you enjoy please!

  
Being out of milk on a day when he had an extremely packed schedule—emphasis on  _extremely_ —was not a good start to Oh Sehun’s morning. And seeing as he had fired his last maid for sexual harassment (somehow, they all ended up being that way), he was only left with one reliable person in his household.

 

Unfortunately, this person was already handling several other jobs around the home.

 

Well, Sehun really couldn't be blamed for firing all the other maids. Almost being raped when catching up on well-deserved sleep was enough to end anyone's job.

But at the time, the main issue was the fact there was no longer milk in the fridge.

 

He couldn't push another job on his already busy butler, Minseok—and he was just wasting time pondering the dilemma. There were things to do, people to see, and simply not enough time to do them all. He would have to take matters into his own hands.

 

For the first time in years, he would have to get the necessary item himself. He was  _famous_ , he shouldn't have to lift his little finger for anything—especially getting milk. But no, this was a necessary piece to his daily routine. And his schedule was waiting.

 

He would have to go out in public.

 

And take a public bus.

 

And walk down a public street to a public store and buy public milk.

 

And walk back.

 

Publicly.

 

Life was truly difficult for the rich, influential, and powerful. Not being able to walk down a street without being recognized was a feat in itself.

 

Avoiding the paparazzi was one thing.

 

Avoiding die-hard fans was a completely separate problem.

 

Fishing around in a drawer near his coat rack, Sehun successfully discovered a pair of shades. They were large enough to cover most of his significant features. He hid his dyed locks underneath a hat and donned his plainest shirt and pants, as well as wearing the most normal shoes he could find.

 

Sehun slouched his shoulders on purpose and walked out his front door, hoping he could find his way to the nearest grocery store and get back home safely with a jug of milk.

 

Time: 6:43AM.

 

**⚣**

 

The slouching-shoulder thing didn't work as well as he hoped. The moment he stepped foot on the public streets which were already bustling in the morning air, people looked up at his tall stature.

 

And then came the curious thought that bubbled within each of their minds: what face did this guy have? Was he handsome, like his figure suggested? Or was he unfortunate enough to have a great body, but terrible features? This resulted in many bystanders craning for a look at his face, which was partially hidden by the shades.

 

But that didn't stop the school girls from finding him attractive.

 

He could see them gathering friends and "secretly" taking pictures of him. It wasn't a new feeling, so he kept walking, going as far as to change his gait to make himself even less recognizable.

 

Sehun made it to the bus stop (he wasn't that far gone yet as to forget how to use public transportation), looking at the map and charts to find out the bus he would need to take. The 6:55 one would take him to the mart he needed.

 

Quickly, he checked his pockets for the money he needed, and fished out enough for a round trip. He only needed to wait a few minutes until the public vehicle came, and he was mercilessly shoved on with the other hordes of people.

 

He decided to ride standing up, finding it a much more relaxing position. The air conditioning was very welcome in the humid morning. Girls on the bus were starting to take notice of his presence and began nudging other riders to stand closer to him.

 

From behind his shades, Sehun rated them on attractiveness.

 

With a haughty breath from his nose, he concluded none of them were above a six.

The driver called his stop and he got off, eyes immediately spotting the mart on the corner of the street. Sighing with relief, he stepped inside to get his well-deserved milk.

 

"Oh, doesn't that guy look a lot like Shixun?" said a girl loudly, unashamed at totally ogling him from head to toe. Her friend looked on too, eyebrows rising in contemplation.

 

"Now that you mention it, they do look pretty similar."

 

"Well, whoever he is, he's really hot."

 

"I know, right?"

 

"Yeah. But why is he wearing so much clothing?"

 

"I know, right? It's so hot outside."

 

"Just like him…"

 

"Totally."

 

Sehun rushed away before he could listen to any more of the ridiculous conversation. Wasn't there anyone in South Korea who didn't know his face? Being famous was certainly a hassle—he couldn't even find a decent maid without putting his body at risk.

 

He picked up the milk and paid for it, already sick of his excursion outside. He needed a break. He needed to get back to work, back to his exhausting yet strangely fulfilling job. Milk was not worth all the effort he put in.

 

The girls from the store stalked him all the way to the bus stop, giggling and whispering. He knew it was not his business, they didn't even recognize him (thank god), but the fact that they followed good looking men around was creepy.

 

Turning around, he announced, "Aren't you supposed to be in school by now?"

 

They squealed, as if he had fulfilled all their desires with one word. "You sound  _just_ like him!" They laughed and clapped their hands happily (fangirlishly) and ran away, likely to spread the new-found piece of gossip to everyone in their school.

 

Sehun knew who he sounded like and made the wise decision to leave immediately lest someone else recognize the uncanny resemblance between him and celebrity star Wu Shixun.

 

**⚣**

 

"Welcome home, Sehun-ah. I was wondering where you went."

 

"Just went to grab milk," Sehun grunted, hauling his precious jug to the table and pouring himself a bowl.

 

Who knew that getting a simple carton of milk could take so much trouble and put his life in so much risk? Sehun vowed silently never to attempt the feat again.

 

It had been slightly better when he was a newcomer in the entertainment industry, but now he was a hotshot. Things were different.

 

If he didn't disguise himself properly, fans would rip his clothes to shreds. He had gone against bodyguards simply because he didn't like the feeling of being watched and protected.

 

His aura was enough for anyone to keep their distance, so there was never such an issue with that. Even the fans, though wanting to touch him, refrained from doing so and were happy enough to tag behind him.

 

Well, when he was with Minseok anyways. If Sehun was alone, circumstances would be different. Hence the disguises.

 

Minseok, though smaller and not too many years older, was Sehun’s most loyal butler (and best friend).

 

Having watched him rise in popularity while spending many years as friends, he was almost like a brother. Minseok was the one who made the offer of being Sehun’s butler, to which Sehun was at first apprehensive about (because come on, having your older best friend who was also your hyung be your _butler_?) But he eventually accepted Minseok’s offer, promising to pay him generously.

 

And because of well Minseok knew him, he raised a surprised eyebrow, totally caught off guard. "You went by yourself?"

 

"Yeah," Sehun replied, secretly feeling proud of his accomplishment, "And the best part is, I'm still intact and haven't lost anything."

 

"Good job, Sehun-ah." The teasing but warm compliment was well received.

 

Then, like the dedicated man he was, Minseok began the day's schedule with haste. "Now, we really should be on our way, since there are several meetings we have to make, the first of them including promotions in China—your soundtrack in Mandarin has become a popular hit."

 

Sehun hummed, nodding.

 

"After that, you have interviews, and finally the appearance on the variety show. Lunch is packed, you'll be eating as we drive to the third interview. We'll be staying in China for today and tomorrow, then coming back in time to make the modeling meeting in place the next day. The translator will be meeting us later on." the elder finished.

 

A typical schedule.

 

"Sounds good, hyung," Sehun stated calmly, finishing his cereal. "Let's go."

 

Time: 7:55AM.

 

**⚣**

 

Luhan woke up to some very bad news. The moment he opened his eyes to a brand-new day, his parents were peering over him.

 

"Honey, we gambled on the wrong stocks!" said his mother cheerily, like it was normal to watch his son until he woke.

 

Gambling on the wrong stocks was normal—it was alright to drop a couple of points. But his parents had the uncanny ability to choose all the worst possible choices and lose all their money in one go. However, Luhan had a feeling his mother's words precluded something even more terrible.

 

"Time to sell our house to pay for our debts!"

 

Worst news possible—his gut hadn't been wrong yet, but secretly, Luhan hoped this time would be the exception. He always knew his parents would meet the end of their luck with stocks one day, but he wasn't expecting it to come so soon.

 

They had gotten rich through sheer effort alone, and now all their work was for naught due to a stupid ass mistake. Shocked to the near point of disbelief, Luhan chose his words carefully. "You mean… we're poor?"

 

His father laughed, clapping him on the back. "Close! We're middle class now! We still have enough money for a good life, but we'll need to cut down on certain expenses. It'll take a while, but we'll soon have enough from our jobs to be rich again!"

 

Luhan gulped, the shock still affecting him. "How soon is  _a while_?"

 

"Oh, my little deer, only a few years."

 

Years?  _Years?_  His mind was reeling. This couldn't be happening. For his entire life, he had lived in the lap of luxury—middle class was unfathomable.

 

No new clothes every two weeks? He'd have to be even more frugal than he already  _was_? Sure, he was an expert on deals, organization, and the like—but a small house? He would have to associate with normal, non-influential people?

 

Luhan was hoping it was all a dream.

 

"Get up, Lulu!" cried his mother, opening the blinds so the light poured into the room. "Time to start packing! We're moving in a month!"

 

It was not a dream.

 

It was hell.

 

Time: 8:25AM.

 

**⚣**

 

He simply would not accept it. Not a bit. This was torture. Absolute madness.

 

His mother's last words still rang in his head. "Oh, and we're cutting you out of that expensive private university—we almost can't even afford the taxes here anymore, much less the tuition! Have fun without your friends while we straighten things out with the real estate people."

 

Only twenty-one, and already suffering a midlife crisis. He was a year away from getting his diploma, for fuck's sake!

 

Luhan could already feel himself tearing up. (But he didn't because he was a man, and men didn't cry over ridiculous shit like this.)

 

Looking at his closet full of expensive clothes, he sighed, knowing he would have to give them up to pay off the debts.

 

He gently selected a few of his favorite pieces to savor. The expensive fabric brushed by his fingers, almost tenderly.

 

_Bye bye Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Versace..._

 

Would he really have to endure this kind of suffering?

 

Luhan drew out his suitcase and began packing the essentials, taking his phone out and notifying everyone he knew of his dilemma. He was instantly whelmed with text messages and phone calls from concerned classmates and friends—wondering why he was moving, when, and offering sympathy.

 

And no, he was not fucking crying. There was wetness in his eyes, but not due to tears. No.

 

It finally became so unbearable that he collapsed on his bed and let his frustrations out for a half hour. Sure, it was mildly embarrassing to a certain extent, but he did feel somewhat better.

 

Not that his situation had really changed any with his sort-of breakdown.

 

Curled up on his bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, Luhan was probably looking a little worse for wear.

 

It was the sum of his sudden loss in stature and leaving his friends behind that drove him to actually shed tears for the first time in years. His eyes were puffy and he looked like shit.

 

Still. No use dwelling on the past, no matter how opposed he was to the notion of being "poor."

 

And then an idea struck.

 

It was  _perfect._  It was the surefire way out of his dilemma—if he couldn't stand being middle-class with his family, why would he need to stay in China? He jumped off the bed, mind whirring furiously with his new-found plan, and the more he thought about it, the more appealing it sounded. It could work...no, it  _would_  work. He would find his own way out. And the key to his idea was a certain populous peninsula in East Asia.

 

Really, his parents shouldn't have paid for him to learn Korean as his second language.

 

Luhan began packing much more vigorously, taking the Korean workbooks and pocket handbook with him from his private tutor, enough clothes for a month's worth of outfits, and other essentials.

 

There was no way he was staying to be middle class. He was  _gone._

 

And chances were, his parents would end up getting more in debt, relying on him as financial aid by setting him up for marriage with some rich ass heiress daughter of a family friend (or maybe even an old man, since they knew he was bisexual). Honestly, he wouldn't put it past them, so he wasn't going to stay to find out.

 

Plus, even if he was found out by someone other than his parents, he was a legal adult, not some runaway minor. Even if his parents refused to acknowledge him as an adult, by law, he was legally one.

 

It was time to put his organization skills to use. He drew up a schedule for things to do the next day. Buy a ticket. Pack more. Withdraw all his money from the savings account. Try not to get caught.

 

It wouldn't be too difficult.

 

He called his cell phone company and changed his number so he couldn't be reached, then walked downstairs as if nothing had happened.

 

His parents were busy discussing what to do with the house, and their faces brightened when they saw him. "Luhan! Are you feeling alright now? I know it's hard for you to grasp—but I really hope you'll understand. We're all trying our best, and we should be grateful that we're all here to go through this together," cooed his mother.

 

Luhan felt slightly guilty about leaving them, but in the end, it would be easier. They wouldn't have a third mouth to feed and could focus on getting their lives back in shape.

 

They would be okay without him, at least for a few months. "Of course, Mama," he answered with a smile. "I really do understand."

 

His mother instantly burst into tears. "Oh sweetie, I knew you would! Let's go out to eat for lunch, shall we? One last commemoration of our life as upper-class citizens."

 

"I think it's a wonderful idea," commented his father. "Perfect, in fact. Because after this, we're going to be cooking at home! Buying vegetables from the street vendors and everything!" Somehow, he seemed strangely excited to be a normal person.

 

But Luhan wasn't too keen on the idea.

 

"Your mother and I were exceptionally good at cooking back in the day," his father continued proudly. "But whether or not we can do it for a few years…"

 

"We can eat out occasionally," said his mother with a frown. "We're not poor, you know, just average. Now come on, we have stuff to organize."

 

Luhan cringed. Average. His least favorite word.

 

But where he was going, no one would know.

 

Time: 10:15AM.

 

**⚣**

 

Having booked his flight, Luhan became even surer that his plan would succeed. He had splurged (it was the last time, it was totally warranted) on a first-class ticket. When told that someone had reserved the entire area, he only had to threaten—er,  _convincingly ask_  the customer service respondent if they were willing to keep their job if he directly contacted their manager.

 

After pushing the poor replier to near-tears, they finally arranged for him to sit in the first-class section of the plane. No matter who it was, no matter  _how_  extremely important the person, he was not going to give up the last piece of luxury he would ever have.

 

Besides—one person couldn't possibly keep an entire cabin for themselves.

Luhan checked the flight details one last time. It would leave early in the morning on Sunday—he needed time to sneak out of the house. His parents were early birds (7:00AM was an ungodly hour, but it ran in the family), so he was determined to get up even earlier. Luhan would not take any chances. He also took the liberty of hiring a cab service to get him to the airport on time.

 

He'd have gone with the limo, but the cab seemed a bit more frugal.

 

Luhan had wiped all his tracks, cleared his history and records and everything, taking the situation into his own hands so his parents wouldn't be able to follow him and drag him back, in the case there was some arranged money-marriage situation.

 

"Luhan, my beautiful baby boy!" called his mother from downstairs. "You should head off to bed now! We've got a weekend full of sorting to do!"

 

He heard his mother call to his father off at the side. "Isn't this exciting? Family bonding time! Oh dear, I've always dreamed of spring cleaning with the family. Now that we don't have to hire cleaning services anymore, we can just rely on our Busy Bee Luhan!"

 

He cringed at the term of endearment. Busy Bee Luhan. What an atrocious nickname, but so  _nauseatingly_  appropriate. For his entire life, clutter and disarray had rattled his nerves, so he cleaned as hard as a worker bee to keep things organized. His parents thought it was cute, hence the nickname. Yet, it was a useful trait: glancing around his room, he noted with a happy air that indeed, his room was spotless and organized to tip-top shape.

 

His suitcase, already packed, was hidden in his closet, away from prying eyes.

 

"Luhan? Did you hear me? Time to sleep!"

 

"Okay, I'm going!" he called, ignoring the enormous sense of guilt and regret that was now filling him up. His disappearance would hurt his parents like no other. He should leave a note the departure day, telling them he was safe. But if he lost this chance, it was over: he needed to hold onto his courage and headstrong sense until the end. Until the plane. Until there was no turning back.

 

Luhan quickly washed up and combed his dark blonde hair before he went to sleep, noting his darker roots showing. And he had split ends.

 

A trim was necessary. And maybe a different hair color. Peachy orange, maybe?

 

A new haircut, a new outlook, a new life.

 

He let the strands of hair fall back in place, pursing his lips. He wasn't mentally prepared yet, but that didn't matter.

 

Thirty-four hours left. Might as well start the countdown.

 

**⚣**

 

"Shixun-ssi! Question!" yelled someone from the immense crowd. The interview was nearly finished, having started quite a while ago, bright and early in the morning.

 

Sehun politely indicated for the man to speak, but he was truly bored to the core.

 

The same questions popped up everywhere. If they really needed that information, it wouldn't be too much of a hassle to search it up on the internet.

 

Why Mandarin? Why are your hopes placed on the Chinese market? You said you were aiming for something new and fresh—what do you feel about the rookie boy group CHINGU copying your style? What hopes do you have for the future of K-pop?

 

"I heard you fired your last maid. What do you have to say about it? From recent interviews, it seems like she said she quit because your demands and regimen were too tough."

 

He snorted softly through his nose. Rumors and paparazzi—a few things on his "strongly-dislike" list.

 

"No comment."

 

If he said anything else, they were sure to warp it.

 

The reporter scowled, obviously unpleased. Sehun ignored him and moved onto another person, a foreigner sitting up front.

 

"Shixun-ssi," she said, once he had acknowledged for her to speak, "You are currently revered as one of the highest paying stars in South Korea, and at such a young age as well, barely of legal adult age. What can you say about getting to this point, now that you've started to sell your tracks in foreign markets?"

 

"I would say," he said, pretending to think modestly, "That while this is surely an honor and an immense amount of work was placed into this, expanding here is merely the beginning. I dream of having a world that is united through a type of music. I wish for people of all ages to be exposed to things they've never heard of: a style they're unaccustomed to—and that can only be achieved through even more effort. I will continue to work hard, despite the successes I've faced. There's always an end to everything, I hope to see it quite further along the road."

 

Minseok nodded approvingly from the sidelines. Sehun allowed himself a mental pat on the back for an eloquent answer and a job well done. The reporter looked stunned at his answer, momentarily faulting for a moment before thanking him.

 

More hands went up, more cameras flashed, blinding him with their bright lights.

 

His legs were getting restless, and he sighed. Only two more hours to go.

 

**⚣**

 

"Another interview?" Sehun scowled, slouching unhappily in the front seat of the rented car.

 

Minseok who was at the wheel, smiled sympathetically.

 

"This is the road you chose, Sehunnie. Just bear with it. I'm your manager and butler, but hopefully we can find someone else to help too. It would make things easier for the both of us." He drove carefully, avoiding the pedestrians on the street.

 

"It's not fair, hyung," Sehun grumbled. "I'm sick of these interviews, there are hardly any creative questions anymore, and I'm trying to keep my head in check but it's becoming rather difficult. You get me?"

 

"Yeah, I do, Sehunnie." Minseok hummed from the wheel.

 

"You always do," the idol replied, but still sulking. If Minseok hadn't been there for him every step of the way, he probably would have quit by now.

 

Work was hard. He rarely had breaks, save for the car rides. Glancing out the window, Sehun observed his surroundings, swearing to engrave everything in his mind.

 

Images of beautiful Asian women graced the LED lights of buildings, posing for the camera only they could see. He glimpsed the signs of stores written in characters he couldn't read, bolded in red, yellow, black, and white. Little girls, no older than ten, walked on the sidewalks with their neat and short hair.

 

"Do you like it here?" Minseok asked, stopping at a red light. "I mean, I've been here enough times to warrant myself a Chinese name from my extended family living here."

 

Sehun nodded, "Xiumin, right?" he contemplated whether he did actually like it for a second, choosing his words carefully. "China has good food, I guess."

 

Minseok rolled his eyes. "Of course, that would be your answer."

 

"If only I could squeeze that into an interview. That would surely make me sound more sophisticated."

 

"Sophisticated, my ass. You're not a food critic," his hyung stated wryly as he laughed and gently stepped on the gas, "besides, you're already kind of sophisticated."

 

Sehun smiled, an action he rarely let others see. "Just kind of, hyung?"

 

"Please. We both know you only play up that cosmopolitan facade for the cameras." Minseok snorted, eyes still trained on the road.

 

"Hyuuung!" Sehun whined at his butler.

 

"But that's just part of your charm, you know." Minseok smiled and allowed himself a second's glance at his friend. "And you definitely have grown."

 

Then his eyes were back on the road again.

 

"This conversation again?" grumbled Sehun, flushing a little. Inwardly however, he was pleased.

 

"Well, for one thing, you're taller. Remember those times when I was the taller one?"

 

Sehun smirked. "How could I ever forget?"

 

The car ride would only last a bit longer. He was going to savor every moment.

 

_"Please turn left on—recalculating. Signal lost."_

 

…But that was a bad sign. "We're going to be late again, aren't we?" Sehun asked casually.

 

Minseok raised an eyebrow. "Since when were we  _ever_  on time?"

 

**⚣**

 

"Thank you, Shixun-ssi, for your patience and dedication. I hope you enjoy your stay in China." the translator relayed back to him.

 

Sehun smiled contently, waving at the interviewers as he left the stage, but inwardly feeling glad that it was over. Now there was only one left to go after lunch, a TV show, and then he was on the flight back home. He saw Minseok out of the corner of his eye, and immediately felt a sense of extreme guilt. His best friend looked exhausted, dark circles prominent beneath his eyes. Taking care of all the appointments by himself was taking a toll on him.

 

Minseok clearly needed some time off.

 

Sehun struggled with his inner thoughts, wondering if he should begin hiring again. He wasn't comfortable with certain guys doing the chores he required, and girls even less so.

 

But he was willing to sacrifice for the sake of his close companion.

 

As they got into the car and Minseok started up the engine, Sehun casually spoke. "I think I'm considering hiring another person."

 

"Hmm, really now?" replied Minseok, passing him his lunch in a container. Sehun opened the container, discovering his favorite jajangmyeon.

 

One thing he was sure of: cooking would be the one job he would leave to no one else. Minseok made the best fucking food.

 

Sehun took a bite of his meal as they pulled out of the parking lot and got back on the busy streets. "Yes. You look tired lately since everything is piling up on your shoulders. Even when those girls were there, you had it easier. Now you look completely stressed. Dead tired. I'll be taking a break from work soon enough, so you can have a vacation."

 

Minseok’s eyes turned steely, pursing his lips at the comment. "I appreciate your concern about me, but it’s okay. My job is to take care of you. Your job is to entertain, not to worry about me. It's true, it was easier with others—but at your expense. They harassed you to no end. I‘d seriously rather you just focus on your goals. I can take care of myself, Sehunnie. I’m older than you, after all, little dongsaeng."

 

"Only by four years!" Sehun protested. "But still, Minseok-hyung, you need rest."

 

Minseok sighed, noticing the agitation on Sehun’s face. "I promise I’ll try not to overwork myself too much, but you’d better do the same. If I look like this, imagine what you look like. Take care of yourself first."

 

"Fine, hyung." Sehun mumbled. He was still upset at Minseok's stubbornness. Shoulders scrunched, a scowl on his face, he munched on his noodles quietly, thinking all the way and determined this time around to take matters into his own hands if Minseok wasn't better by the end of the week.

 

They arrived at their next destination, surprisingly punctual. His fans were waiting outside the doors, holding up signs with his name and songs, cameras and phones out and ready to go.

 

Minseok's presence made them slightly retreat again (he was decked in black, with platform shoes for extra height and sunglasses), but Sehun knew if a single grain of the balance was tipped, they'd be all over him in a heartbeat.

 

He waved and smiled at his fans, the image of a perfect celebrity. But he, like so many in his industry, truly  _did_  appreciate them—sometimes the thought of his fans was the only thing that kept him going when recording long into the night.

 

The rush of air conditioning from the building was welcome. He was immediately ushered in to the interview where he sat calmly at a table, legs crossed, Minseok at his side, and ready to take on any questions thrown at him.

 

Lights flashed, but he refused to blink awkwardly. He held up a hand, signifying the start of his last interview in China. Hands whipped out, waving in the air, cameras focusing on him.

 

He chose a pretty looking lady sitting near the far back.

 

"Mr. Wu Shixun, how do you feel about speaking Mandarin? Don't you sometimes feel a little embarrassed, or inadequate?"

 

Easy question. "Every artist has a weakness or more. Mandarin is certainly not my strong point, but I am currently trying to improve my speaking and writing skills in this field. And about embarrassment—it isn't necessarily embarrassment per say because it  _is_  a foreign language I'm not comfortable with yet, but more of a desire to do better. I want to be able to hold conversations with my Chinese fans as well."

 

He saw her taking note of his response and sighed as the sea of hands grew restless still. There was still more to go. Being an idol was certainly tiring at times.

This was one of those times.

 

**⚣**

 

It was finally Monday. His alarm was on, but Luhan simply lay in bed, waiting for it to go off, too excited and restless to relax.

 

He had checked, double checked, triple checked, and checked again to make sure he had everything he needed to survive. The most important problem at the time was money. There was a limited amount that he had on hand. Sure, it was a quite formidable sum, but it wouldn't last him long.

 

He'd need a job. Preferably a job that paid him well enough to continue his previous lifestyle.

 

His transcript, courtesy of his school, was given to him at his request. It wasn't shabby: he had worked hard, and the grades reflected it. The file was safely tucked away in case it was needed for hiring.

 

The tiniest beep came from his clock and he turned it off quickly, springing out of bed and washing up as quietly as possible. When he was done, he tiptoed down the stairs with his luggage.

 

It was still a bit dark outside, the sun having just crossed over the horizon.

 

He snuck a bite of something to eat, and cast one last, forlorn look at the upstairs where his sleeping parents resided, not knowing that their son was running away.

 

(But it wasn't running away, not really—it was more of... finally becoming independent.)

 

Luhan shook his head. The cab would be coming soon. He couldn't dwell on such matters. He opened his front door, hauling his belongings out, and closing the entryway silently. Locking it for good measure, he stood out on his vast driveway, waiting for the cab to show up.

 

The green taxi with its missing passenger seatbelts showed up minutes later, spitting grey exhaust into the air. The driver came out and helped Luhan put his luggage in the trunk (not that he needed it, but did he really look that weak?), then motioned for him to take shotgun.

 

He complied. It was the only other seat in the car with a seatbelt. And driving to the airport in China could take a lot of maneuvering.

 

Honestly, he didn't really have any intention of dying before they even reached the plane.

 

"Running away?" the cab driver asked, expertly reversing and getting onto the street. His house grew smaller and smaller, retreating into the distance. His neighborhood, so familiar to him, flashed across his eyes, giving him a glimpse of the place he was leaving.

 

Luhan gazed out the window, looking at what perhaps would be his last view of his home.

 

"Hmm," he answered quietly, noting the blurs of the trees that whizzed by, "Something like that."

 

**⚣**

 

He arrived at the airport, slightly shaken and nervous. The cab ride had been eventful, but it led up to an even greater hurdle.

 

Throughout the twenty-one years of life, he had never been on a plane.

 

Sad, it was.

 

Oh sure, he knew how the system worked, which terminals to go on, gate numbers, baggage check-ins—but getting on a plane? That skill couldn't be described on the internet.

 

Luhan quickly got his ticket and began waiting in line for the luggage check-in. Observing the people around him, he noticed families struggling to handle their bags and children at the same time. He saw businessmen talking rapidly into their phones, some in Chinese, some in Japanese and Korean, and others in English.

 

Couples held hands and made lovey-dovey eyes at each other, which made him a tad uncomfortable.

 

Luhan averted his eyes from the sight.

 

Another sad thing. He was travelling alone, with no companion.

 

The voices of other people echoed around the air.

 

Slowly, the line moved along, and it was finally his turn. He checked in his bags with no difficulty.

 

The rest of the procedures were easy too; requiring only a bit of common sense and compliance with the rules.

 

He arrived at his gate an hour earlier and sat in a chair, ready to catch up on some missed sleep.

 

But the giant, roaring planes outside prevented Luhan from resting, instead filling his mind with worrisome thoughts.

 

Luhan sat, uneasy and tense, clenching his hand in a repeated fashion, hoping to dispel his jumbled emotions, watching others arrive and sit down, some good looking, most average.

 

One man stood out like a sore thumb.

 

The man was sulking and looking quite upset, constantly checking his phone, legs crossed angrily. He appeared to be maybe around Luhan's age.

 

And he was perhaps, one of the most attractive men Luhan had seen for a while.

 

Luhan swallowed and tried to look busy, but still admiring the man from his seat. If he could stand up, casually start a conversation—how lucky would he be?

 

Apparently, the other girls (and the occasional boy) at the gate were having the same idea. But for some strange reason, they kept their distance and began whispering excitedly to on another, actually taking out their phones and taking  _pictures_  (that was going a little too far). Some of the older women noticed the guy too, gasping and immediately staring at him with wide eyes.

 

Yet, he didn't look offended in the least, instead more focused on his phone, calling people, then pausing to text, and actually bathing in the females' praises.

He looked indifferent, and the slight frown at the corner of his mouth affirmed what Luhan was thinking.

 

The Chinese male could only come up with the conclusion that he was used to it since this happened to him everywhere he went, the girls' interests began losing importance, he cared nothing for their affections, and thus, was an egocentric and stuck up asshole.

 

Luhan turned back to look at his lap, the image of the handsome man ruined in his eyes, opinion having soured.

 

Couldn't he have at least looked a little embarrassed? Or a little offended at the high, and obvious, attention he received?

Or even  _modestly_ pushed their affection away?

 

(Luhan was only a little jealous.)

 

His good looks added no merit to what seemed to be a stoic and self-centered personality.

 

Thank fuck he wouldn't have to associate with a person like that. He got enough of that shit from the classmates he didn't enjoy being in the presence of.

 

After what seemed to be ages of waiting, the first-class seats were finally called. Luhan and the pompous ass were the only ones in line.

 

The man(—boy? Now that Luhan got a proper glimpse of his face, he seemed quite youthful. Or maybe that was just him) looked surprised that he was there too. Luhan could see his eyebrows raise the slightest bit past the corner of his sunglasses (why in the world did he need those? The sun hadn't even  _come up_  yet).

 

He turned to look at the ground, whispering harsh words in Korean underneath his breath.

 

"I thought I booked the cabin!"

 

So, he was the one.

 

Luhan pretended not to understand.

 

The man-boy turned to the attendant, speaking in mangled Mandarin about his situation.

 

The lady could only smile sympathetically and explain that nothing could be changed, in which his face grew even more disagreeable.

 

He let out a strangled huff and stormed through the doors after his ticket was checked, dragging a single suitcase with him.

 

Luhan unwillingly followed and entered the plane, finding his seat and sitting down...

right fucking next to him, great.

 

He checked his ticket again.

 

The number written there matched up with the seat number.

 

He looked away from Luhan, sending off vibes of pure hatred. Luhan wanted nothing more than to kick that fucker in the leg but opted to put his bag next to him instead and pull a magazine out of the chair pocket in front of him.

 

The cabin was entirely empty, save for them.

 

"You could move," the man-child said stiffly, breaking the silence. His voice was quite deep and rough, but in a pleasant way.

 

Not to say that the guy himself was pleasant, because he really wasn't.

 

Luhan wasn't giving up his seat for  _anything_. Who said that  _he_  had to be the one to accommodate the guy's preferences?

 

"I'd rather not," Luhan answered coldly.

 

Other passengers began filing in too, looking at Luhan oddly. Some girls were obviously jealous of his predicament, and turned away, noses high. Others looked between the two of them, murmuring amongst themselves.

 

"Yah, eonni, that's Shixun-oppa!"

 

"Uh huh, I know. I have eyes, too."

 

"I'm so jealous of the guy sitting next to him."

 

"I'm kind of jealous of Shixun-oppa. That guy sitting next to him is really hot too!"

 

"OH MY GOD. I agree. I ship them!"

 

Luhan internally cringed. Even though he himself was bisexual, he couldn't wrap his mind around the vast majority of the female population's love of yaoi, boys' love, and the like. It seemed they enjoyed gay shit more than the gays themselves.

 

Every time they saw two attractive guys, girls would flock together and gossip about how good they would look together and how much they shipped them. It had happened to Luhan during his school days.

 

(They always made him out to be the bottom. Fucking hell. Luhan knew he was pretty and maybe a little bit delicate looking—and maybe there was some merit to their musing, but that didn't justify it at all.)

 

The plane slowly began filling up, until the line had jammed all the way to the plane's entrance. As the congestion eased, Luhan read the safety manual and took out his own book, opting to read. The flight wouldn't take long, perhaps a couple hours at most.

 

His gum was in the bag below him seat, to ease ear-popping.

 

The man-boy next to him was still sending out hate waves.

 

Luhan sent his own back.

 

The area was filled with tension so thick it was palpable.

 

Finally, the line ended, and the people settled down, and the attendants began going through the safety rules.

 

Luhan glanced at the man-boy out of the corner of his eye, grudgingly admitting his looks were nothing to be trifled with.

 

He had light brown hair, sleek and healthy, lips pressed into a thin line, face a light peach hue. His features were smooth, forearms lightly muscled.

 

Luhan bit the inside of his cheek and quickly looked at something else, unable to stop the thoughts racing in his mind. Fucking emotions. At this moment, he despairingly wished he was straight.

 

(Hell, the guy was probably straight.)

 

Yes, the guy was obviously attractive, but his personality was shit, so that should negate the desire.

 

Luhan stomped out that feeling of desire, choosing instead not to acknowledge the presence next to him any longer.

 

The safety instructions ended, and the plane began heading down the runway, gathering speed. Luhan's breath hitched, surprised at the sudden movement. His seatmate was suddenly no longer of any interest to him—all he cared about was the fact that he was sitting in a giant metal contraption of death. He clenched the armrests as hard as he could, eyes clenched shut in horror.

 

It was coming.

 

The plane, almost clumsily, gave a giant lurch and left the ground. Luhan tried to control his breathing, slightly panicking, adding more pressure to the armrests that were subject to his vice-like grip.

 

His eyes blew wide.

 

The ground was so far below him. He could see the layout of the city, see little green dots and little cars and even little people and the wings of the plane were dipping into the clouds and his head was getting dizzy and he really wanted to get off  _right now_.

 

(If he wasn't scared shitless, he'd have appreciated the aesthetic quality of the view.)

 

Minutes passed, and the plane stabilized, enough for the seatbelt sign to blink off.

 

Things were swimming in Luhan's vision. The rumbling of the engines filled his ears, and he could fill every slight dip and tremble of the oversized vehicle. He closed his eyes once more, hoping to fight the feeling of nausea.

 

He'd only gotten the flu once in his entire life, and it was the worst feeling ever. And now, the plane ride was coming dangerously close to it.

 

Shakily, Luhan tried breathing through his nose, completely disregarding his previously thoughts of reading. He needed to fucking survive. Mentally, he swore never to take a flight again, and then realized he would need to if he ever wanted to get out of Korea. Without warning, there was a quick drop down, and he felt his stomach leap into his throat.

 

Okay, the ride had now overcome the flu. He was going to throw up.

 

Struggling but to no avail, he grappled for the sick bag, but couldn't find it in time—it was hidden firmly behind a magazine.

 

So, he settled for the next best option and dumped the morning's breakfast onto his companion's lap.

 

Sehun had seen him looking for something in the seats but didn't think it really applied to him. The other man would find it eventually.

 

And then, moments later, Sehun discovered that item had been a sick bag.

 

And that he had audaciously vomited all over Sehun's pants. Sehun's designer fucking pants that cost a shit ton.

 

There was a little gurgled gasp of horror that wanted to escape Sehun's mouth, but he bit his bottom lip and decided he needed to be responsible.

 

It was what Minseok-hyung would have expected of him.

 

**⚣**

 

There was legitimate reason for Sehun's bad mood that morning. Minseok's stress had finally taken its toll. While trying to keep up with Sehun's schedule, he had decided to run on the pavement sleep deprived as all hell and succeeded in tripping and falling. The fall hadn't been serious enough to knock him unconscious, but it had been bad enough to break his leg. So, his hyung was now in the emergency room, and Sehun was worried beyond belief.

 

Fucking Minseok and his tendency to overwork himself.

 

(But it was Sehun's fault.)

 

Minseok had assured him that he was alright, and that Sehun should take the plane home so that two tickets wouldn't be wasted. Obviously, Minseok was losing his, but that was okay—he wanted Sehun to arrive home safely. The elder had told Sehun that he would rather have him at home than in China where he was much more vulnerable.

 

"Don't worry, I'll be taking a flight back soon enough," his hyung promised, face scrunched in pain, but still managing to smile his signature bunny smile (though it was more of a bunny grimace than anything).

 

Sehun grit his teeth, trying not to cry. He made a resolve then and there. His best friend would no longer suffer because of him.

 

He cancelled the modeling shoot, ready to spend that day looking for someone else to handle jobs around the house.

 

Sehun didn't care how many people he would have to hire, or how much money he would have to spend. Minseok was in the hospital because of him, because of the stress, because of  _Sehun’s busy ass schedule_ , and it was up to him to finally repay him for his hard work and dedication that he never got any recognition for.

 

And now there was upchucked food on his lap. The other Sehun hadn't paid much attention to, still fuming over his existence in the cabin that  _he had personally booked so that no one would be able to disturb him_.

 

Sehun restrained the hand that wanted to smack the (admittedly pretty) guy on the side of his head, and instead yelled for an attendant to come over.

 

His seatmate looked up groggily, still sick to the stomach.

 

He really looked ill, face sickly pale.

 

Sehun felt a tiny bit of sympathy for him.

 

And then remembered that his vomit was on him.

 

All thoughts of sympathy flew out the window.

 

An attendant came and gasped, obviously surprised at the situation.

 

"You mind helping out here?" Sehun snapped, gesturing at his position.

 

"Of course, sir," she said, regaining her professional attitude. She quickly walked to the front and grabbed him extra clothes to replace his, and then went over to the man and gently propped him back up.

 

The idol saw the flight attendant give him a sick bag, and the man proceeded to retch into it again, eyes clenched shut.

 

"Go to the bathroom and clean up," the flight attendant ordered.

 

Sehun got up, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant stench that was in the air. He took the clothes that were provided for him and changed in the bathroom, washing himself with a wet paper towel smothered in soap. He came out feeling slightly better, dressed in a hoodie and loose jeans.

 

The flight attendant took his dirty clothes without a word and put them in some plastic bag as other women came to help clean up the area. The man was moved to a different area in the cabin, still slumped and looking green.

 

"Your clean clothes will be sent to your home," the lady said sharply. "We apologize for the inconvenience."

 

"It's fine," Sehun managed to force out.

 

This was why he wanted a separate plane space for himself, so issues like that wouldn't happen.

 

Now, more than ever, he wished Minseok was there with him.

 

But now, all he had were plain clothes, a body that smelled like soap, and a sick man in his cabin.

 

"Sorry about that," the offensive man with feminine features and dark honey blonde muttered, suddenly looking better.

 

Sehun forced out his harshest glare. "You really have no idea who you're dealing with."

 

"You're right," the blonde said with a smirk. "I don't."

**⚣**

 

The moment the plane landed, Sehun was the first out, determined to put as much distance possible between him and the person that threw up on him.

 

Sehun had never felt more embarrassed and angry, rushing to the baggage claim as quickly as possible, grabbing his suitcase off the carousel before the audacious fucker arrived.

 

Minseok had sent him a driver ahead of time to take his spot, and Sehun immediately saw the poster labeled "Oh" on it.

 

"Sir," the driver greeted.

 

"Hello," said Sehun, skipping the formalities.

 

"Let's go."

 

The man looked surprised at his curtness but nodded and led the way to the car. They drove the familiar path back to Sehun's vast home.

 

On the ride back, Sehun pulled out his phone and called Minseok to check up on his condition, where his hyung reassured him that he was in no critical condition. He might have to use crutches for a while, but it would be alright.

 

Minseok was relieved that he had a relatively safe trip back, and Sehun didn't have the heart to complain about the incident that had occurred on the plane.

Sehun hung up and swallowed the lump in his throat.

 

They arrived at the mansion minutes later, and Sehun paid his fare with a small word of thanks and entered his home.

 

He did his daily routine as he did every time he returned and unpacked his suitcase first. He stripped himself of the clothes the airplane attendants had given him and changed into something of his own. He then proceeded to feed himself. Since Sehun wasn't there, he would have to cook.

 

The idol frowned, eyebrows furrowing in thought. Now that he contemplated it, he had never done a bit of cooking in his life. The most effort he put in was washing and chopping vegetables.

 

Shrugging it off, he went into his cabinets and pulled out instant ramyeon packets.

 

"In emergencies only," Minseok had chastised.

 

Sehun ripped open a packet and began boiling water.

 

This constituted as an emergency.

 

The timer rang, signaling that his food was ready. Sitting down at the table and silently eating his hot noodles, the house appeared larger and emptier than ever.

Sehun had never felt more alone in his life.

 

**⚣**

 

A week had passed since Luhan came to South Korea. He had enjoyed every minute of his stay, taking trains and staying in cheap hotels, stuffing himself with authentic Korean food and totally immersing himself in the culture.

 

He was now in some random city (there seemed to be a lot of them), filled with technology and broadcasting centers, that he believed to be Seoul. It was pretty different from his home in Beijing.

 

There seemed to be stars everywhere. Just a simple walk down the street, and he encountered several flocking crowds on the borderline of just plain offensive.

 

But the more pressing matter was that his money supply was slowly dwindling to a standstill. He had searched for jobs, especially for those of a translator, but no one desired to hire him. He needed a well-paying job as well, so Luhan refused to lower himself to apply for certain positions (working at fast-food chains and strip clubs were some of them).

 

He was heading to another interview and was sitting alone at the bus stop. His luggage was at some hotel down the street, his current lodgings.

 

The bus wouldn't come for another thirty minutes, but the day was warm and just right. The sun caressed his pale arms that were thoroughly lathered in sunscreen, and Luhan would relish in the feeling if he didn't fear the possible impending sunburn, laying across the bench. But it did really feel nice, like the world was smiling down at him.

 

His white shirt rippled in the breeze, and he closed his eyes. This was true bliss.

 

And then someone decided to ruin that bliss by effectively blocking the sun that was the source of his happiness.

 

Luhan blinked his eyes open, discovering another man. He looked nice enough.

 

"Hi," he said calmly, taking a seat next to Luhan.

 

"Hello," Luhan replied, giving him a smile.

 

Slowly, Luhan was eased into a conversation. The man proved to be a good talker, witty and engaging, explaining his life with ease. He was apparently heading to the market to buy groceries.

 

The man finally inquired where Luhan was headed to on the bus, and he replied with a simple "job interview," to which his eyes grew in surprise. "Really now!" he exclaimed. "I wouldn't have thought. What a coincidence."

 

"What do you mean?" Luhan asked, growing curious. Could it be that this man was applying for the same job?

 

"Let me explain," he said, "It just so happens I'm looking for someone to fill a certain position. You wouldn't happen to have your credentials with you, would you? It would be great if I could hire you—you seem like you'd be perfect for the occupation."

 

Luhan could hardly believe his luck. "Really?" he asked, barely containing his excitement. Then he cleared his throat, remembering the money he needed. "I appreciate the offer, but I have certain circumstances—I'll need to know how much you're willing to pay me. If it doesn't reach a certain sum, I'll have to decline even letting you see my transcript."

 

He felt so bad about it, but it was necessary. The man may have been a nice guy, but Luhan had standards, dammit.

 

"Is that so?" the man frowned, seeming to ponder Luhan's comment for a moment before speaking again. "—well, how about two hundred million won a week?"

 

Luhan nearly choked on his spit.

 

Holy fucking shit, that was an insane amount of money. Damn, lucky him.

 

He was so happy that his smile on his face seemed brighter than the sun. Money always seemed to have that effect on him.

 

"That's—wonderful. I would be delighted to take on your offer! Here's my transcript," Luhan said, passing him the sheet of paper stowed in his bag. The man looked at it, thinking face on.

 

Then, the man gave him a gentle smile and handed the paper back. "It looks perfect. Your math skills are incredible—we could certainly use a person like you. It seems you've got yourself a job."

 

Luhan was beside himself with joy.

 

Perhaps the trip to Korea was finally showing its potential.

 

"Thank you so much," Luhan replied, shaking the man's hand.

 

"No, thank you," Luhan said politely.

 

"Now if you don't mind," the man started, standing up, "I would like you to start immediately. Would you please follow me? It's not too far from here."

 

Luhan got off the bench and nodded, dusting off his legs. "I'd be happy to start. Where are we headed to?"

 

The stranger (his new boss! He could hardly imagine it) led him down the streets. "You'll see," he said vaguely.

 

They stopped at an alleyway between two shops. It was dark, damp, and stunk like no other.

 

Something wasn't right.

 

Luhan realized that very "something" the moment the man stopped walking and turned around, giving him an eerie smile, so unlike the one he had witnessed before.

 

He had been duped.

 

This man was after him.

 

His features changed, from the kind man Luhan had talked to seconds before, to a malicious attacker.

 

Without a moment's thought, Luhan turned around, ready to run. His feet had barely tensed when the hand that he had shaken earlier clamped open his mouth, large and disgusting.

 

Luhan let out a muffled scream, body twisting and turning, trying to get out of his grasp. He attempted to kick him, and his foot slammed down hard on his toes.

 

The man yelped but still held on, harsher that before.

 

"Stay still, bitch," he hissed, drawing a knife. "You motherfucker."

 

He placed the blade dangerously close to his throat. "Better fucking hold still if you want to stay alive. You'll be a good boy. Look at you, so pretty, like a girl."

 

Luhan's breath was shallow and his heart was jumping a thousand erratic beats.

He could barely think, the adrenaline in his body was heightening his senses, and he wanted to maybe cry but he knew it wouldn't have made a difference.

 

"You're so dumb," the man snarled. "You really believed that about the job? Like I would ever pay someone like you that kind of money." His breath fanned Luhan's face. "Unless you want to whore yourself? It wouldn't be a problem; your pretty ass was made to be take cock—"

 

He stopped mid-sentence, for something had hit him in the face, and he was now howling in pain. His hand relinquished its grip on Luhan's mouth, and he was free to breathe again.

 

He glanced at the projectile that had saved his life.

 

It was a crutch.

 

The assailant stood up, spitting out blood and screaming swears. "The fuck! Shitheads, I'll kill you!" His eyes were mad with rage. He drew his knife again, but another crutch appeared, centimeters away from his face.

 

He blinked, unable to move, licking lips that were dry and covered with a trickle of blood.

 

"Hello? Police? Yes, I've got someone to report—he's in the alleyway on South Bound street, near the bus stop. I've arrived on the scene, where he was about to assault someone. You'll be here soon? Good. It will be alright if he's unconscious, right? Perfect."

 

The cell phone clicked shut.

 

Luhan glanced at his savior, a dark-haired guy around his age with a face that distinctly reminded him of a baozi (such cute and squishy cheeks! But Luhan could also tell he was very fit). He had a plaster cast on his foot and appeared to be a bit shorter than Luhan. The phone he was holding was casually dropped into his pocket. "You alright, bro?" he asked, never taking his eyes off the other man.

 

Luhan nodded and backed up, giving him room. "Thank you," he breathed.

 

"Wasn't about to stand by and watch you get assaulted." the baozi-faced man shrugged.

 

Then the crutch forcefully slammed into his attacker's face, and the man was down, crumbling to the floor.

 

Damn, brutal. But the man deserved it.

 

Luhan helped his savior pick up both his crutches and gave them to him, still in awe. This guy was smaller, that was for sure—but he had definitely just saved Luhan's life.

 

"Thank you so much, man," he repeated, bowing. "How can I ever repay you?"

 

He was just hoping this guy wasn't like the man who was now unconscious.

 

The shorter's eyes softened. "There's nothing that needs to be repaid. I was just doing something anyone else would do."

 

It was okay. He was different.

 

"No, I insist," Luhan urged. "You saved me, called the police too. Anything. I'll do anything I can to repay you."

 

That was a little farfetched, but Luhan was too grateful to care.

 

The baozi-faced man smiled (was this what Koreans called aegyo?) and leaned on his crutches, pushing himself out of the alleyway and into the bright sunlight again.

 

(This guy was cute. Really cute. Maybe not Luhan's type, but Luhan knew aesthetic appeal when he saw it.)

 

He motioned for Luhan to follow, and together, they sat on the bench of the bus that was no longer coming.

 

Luhan had missed it.

 

"Anyway, my name is Minseok." the baozi-faced man—Minseok—introduced himself.

 

"I'm Luhan." Luhan introduced himself back.

 

"Just answer one question," his rescuer asked contemplatively, like he was still unsure of his query, "Do you know who Wu Shixun is?"

 

Luhan blinked. A question? That was all he needed to repay him? The name was slightly familiar, but he could have been imagining it. He didn't know what the right answer was, but he replied truthfully. "Sorry, I don't know. Is he someone you're looking for?"

 

"You don't know him?" Minseok asked, voice laced with surprise.

 

Luhan shook his head, now somewhat embarrassed. "No, sorry. Should I?"

 

Minseok laughed (seriously, was this aegyo?), setting his crutches off to the side. "You're not from here, are you?"

 

Luhan looked at him, surprised as well. He didn't think he had an accent when he was speaking. "I'm not. How did you know?"

 

"Ah, nothing," he replied, still laughing a bit. "So, I overheard your conversation with that poor excuse for a man—you said you needed a job?"

 

And then Luhan was on the defense again, looking at him with wary eyes.

 

"Don't worry, I promise I'm not going to jump you. If you're still willing to repay me, I'd like for you to take up my offer. We'll offer you housing and meals, and you'll be paid monthly. All I need is for you to be able to follow orders. Can you do that?"

 

Luhan was still suspicious. "What kind of orders are we talking about here?" He was willing to redeem himself, but he wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

 

"Cleaning, organizing, the like." Minseok replied, a little bit amused at Luhan's wariness, but also understanding.

 

The blonde let out a sigh of relief. Normal jobs. It sounded nice. And he was offering him room and board, and meals as well. It was a little too good to be true.

 

Minseok seemed to sense his hesitation, so he passed Luhan his wallet, cell phone, and keys. "You can take these for the time being. I promise I'm not lying. Will you take the job? It would mean a lot to me. Honestly, it's hard to find good workers these days."

 

Was he crazy? Luhan certainly believed Minseok now after seeing the extent he would go to for Luhan to believe him.

 

Luhan pushed his belongings back to him, smiling softly. This guy had saved his life.

 

There was no way Luhan could possibly doubt Minseok after he had seen his actions.

 

His gut was telling him Minseok was alright.

 

"I'll take up your offer, if you're okay with having me as an employee, Minseok-ssi," Luhan answered, shyly extending a hand for him to shake. He shook it firmly, with an adorable little grin that Luhan was maybe a little platonically enamored with. It wasn't romantic attraction but more of an  _I-want-to-hug-this-precious-being_  kind of thing.

 

"It would be an honor, Luhan-ssi, but I'm not your boss," he said. "You'll be meeting your employer soon enough. He's my best friend and just like a little brother to me. Here's my card, too, just show up at this address with your belongings, and we'll get you settled in."

 

Luhan read it, the white paper looking bright in the sun. The gold lettering shone and sparkled, the characters slim and elegant.

 

"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?" Minseok asked.

 

"Uhm. Well. I don't really know how to calculate Korean age, but internationally, I'm twenty-one," Luhan hummed. "That would make me what? Twenty-two or twenty-three here?"

 

"Oh, when were you born?"

 

Luhan replied with his birth year, and Minseok's eyes lit up.

 

"Yah, we're the same age then!" Minseok exclaimed gleefully.

 

"Really?" Luhan blinked. "That's pretty cool."

 

"Mm-hm! I was born in March."

 

"Damn, I was born in April." Luhan pouted internally. "You know, you don't have to call me Luhan-ssi. Just Luhan is fine."

 

"Then call me Minseok." Minseok said, and then an alarm on his phone went off. "Shit, I gotta go! See ya around, Luhan!"

 

"Bye, Minseok!"

 

And with that, Minseok hobbled off on his crutches.

 

Shaking his head at the absurdity of the day's events, Luhan pocketed the card.

 

His legs began taking him on the walk back to the hotel.

 

Time to start packing again.


	2. luhan did not sign up for this and sehun is just done period

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens. Like, y'know, Luhan and Sehun meeting again. And more stuff.

Minseok was late in coming home, which had Sehun slightly worried. His hyung-turned-butler was now on crutches so Sehun had lightened the work load considerably for consideration, yet he still couldn't help the nervous feeling crawl up in his stomach.

He sat, stock still, waiting for Minseok to arrive, listening only to the echo of the clock in the kitchen.

Finally, the door unlocked, and Minseok stepped through, casually hanging his jacket on the clothes rack and waving cheerfully. "I’m back, Sehunnie! We'd better get going since we’ve got a lot of stuff to accomplish today. Your schedule is as packed as always. You’ve got to meet your stylist in an hour, and we haven't even gone out the door."

"Don't strain yourself," said Sehun, the farthest he could get to voicing his concern, instantly feeling relief that his companion was safe. He debated asking where Minseok had gone, then thought nothing of it—his best friend Minseok may be, but Minseok’s personal affairs were Minseok’s personal affairs and therefore none of Sehun’s business.

A pause.

Then, "Are you sure I don't need to look for another helper?"

Minseok laughed, a sound which surprised Sehun in the situation. "Nah, I’m good, but thank you. You’re free tomorrow, right? Around six or something at night?"

Sehun thought for a moment, running through lists in his head, becoming slightly confused at the jumble of events and times that were planned in the future. Was Minseok planning something? Finally, he caught hold of the information needed and replied hastily, "I believe so."

"Perfect," Minseok replied, smiling cryptically (and let it be said that cryptic smiles did not belong on Minseok’s face).

Sehun, although slightly curious, resolved to put on his usual hat and shades. He checked his reflection in the mirror, then tucked a stray wisp of hair behind his ear. With nimble fingers, Sehun rearranged the slightly wrinkled clothing around his shoulders and straightened up, looking every inch a celebrity even without make up and styling.

(Not that he needed it, honestly. His skin was perfectly clear and dewy, and his natural bare face was quite handsome already if Sehun didn’t say so himself. And as for his hair… well, he’d been told many times his bedhead was sexy as fuck. But anything that came out of a fangirl’s mouth was obviously to suck up to him, so that may have been bias speaking. But ah well, it was impossible for Sehun to have bad hair days anyway.)

"You ready?" asked Minseok, who was already beginning to reach for the doorknob.

The idol smirked. His butler obviously already knew his answer.

"Of course. I’m always ready."

 

**⚣**

 

"I'm not ready, I'm not ready—"

Luhan was beginning to hyperventilate. It was his first job… _ever._  (Yes, truly a stereotypical spoiled rich kid at its finest but _still_ , Luhan had a right to be anxious.) Not to mention, he had gotten it on the street, which was pretty shady in itself—and hell, he was beginning to doubt the place actually existed.

_Please don’t do me dirty, Minseok._

But it was a chance he was willing to take. Obviously, Luhan needed the wages if he was ever going to get out of his middle-class rut.

He sat on the floor, taking deep breaths, mapping out his plans. He wrote a speech, went over his credentials, and researched popular questions and popular responses and shit online. He should have been ready.

Unfortunately, the most important piece of the puzzle was missing—Minseok had left no time or date on the business card.

Through a bit of elimination and educated guessing, Luhan predicted the date was the next day. As for the time, he would simply arrive in the afternoon. It was the safest choice.

His knees hurt from sitting cross-legged, and his feet were quickly falling numb with a pins and needles sensation. However, he opted to ignore both distractions and focused on his Korean workbook, making sure he wouldn't embarrass himself the next day.

He would pack the majority of his luggage the following morning before noon. There were obviously still other things he needed to worry about.

Money was on the line.

…His  _social standing_  was on the damn line.

If he failed, he would have to go through twice as much work to find another job. This one was practically  _handed_  to him on a silver platter. He only hoped that they paid well, and his boss wouldn't be a jerk.

(Famous last words, Luhan _. Famous last fucking words_.)

Minutes, then hours, passed into the night as Luhan fretted, constantly unable to sit or stay still. He checked and rechecked, and then triple checked. His outfit lay pristine and folded on top of the tiny dresser the hotel provided: a black blazer and slacks set, with a pinstriped shirt beneath. He had pulled out his professional dress shoes too, made of authentic leather that was hella fucking expensive.

He had practiced walking in them for an entire hour, so he could break them in, since he just realized he never had worn them before.

And his feet were sore, which was the reason for sitting on the ground.

Luhan groaned. He couldn't concentrate anymore. The roar of the city streets and the buzz of the electric light above were distracting him more than his bodily pain was.

He stole a sketchbook from his bag. It was a nice one, leathers-bound with crisp sheets, and small enough to easily fit into his bag. With ready eyes and stable hands, he began to sketch the scene out the window.

It was true—focusing on drawing really did get his mind back in the game. He finished the random sketch with no problem and went back to studying. If only he put in the same amount of effort in school… well, things were different. His mother and father weren't there to back him up anymore.

In Korea, Luhan could only depend on himself.

Time to finally be the independent man he was.

Finally, at eleven, he washed up and turned off the lights. He took a deep breath and pulled up the covers, stuck in a foreign world. A large weight seemed to settle on his shoulders, and Luhan knew he would lay in bed for a long time, too nervous to fall asleep.

 

**⚣**

"Let me off now, this is good."

The taxi stopped with a lurch, and Luhan stepped out of the car with an air of class (or as much so as he could manage). The driver offered to carry his bags (seriously, what was it with his appearance and these offers to carry bags? Luhan was _not_ some fragile flowery fucking fairy princess— _oh look, alliteration strikes_ ), but he refused politely, simply paying him and sending him off on his way.

(Honestly. He was a _man_.)

The place didn't look too exciting, simply a plain brick building. He walked up the cement steps, feeling a little over dressed for such a shabby place.

Truthfully, he doubted the wages would be what he expected. With a home looking like that…

_This is what I get for getting scouted off the streets…_

He refrained from retching at the trash littered across the pavement, and almost wanted to pick it up too. It really added nothing to the environment.

Luhan was only _slightly_ OCD, after all. He had self-control. Best not to dirty his hands with someone else’s garbage.

Taking a breath, he wondered if he should just forget the whole deal. But Luhan remembered he had no choice. He had decided to earn some money for the time being to pay for a place to stay, then work his way up towards a better job. So, he sighed and reluctantly knocked on the door. A lady with graying hair opened it, face set in a scowl. Clearly, the old woman wasn’t happy to see him here.

"What do you want?" he screeched.

Luhan cringed, then put on his brightest, winning smile. "Hello, my name is Luhan. I'm here for the job offer?"

The woman scoffed and shut the door in his face, but not before quickly whispering a message.

"Shed."

Luhan stood in the doorway, dumbfounded. Had he just been rejected, or what…?

Shaking his head, he chose to follow the old woman's hint, and trudged back down the steps. He scanned the area, looking for any semblance of a shed. Finally, Luhan discovered an alleyway next to the building. He followed it, almost dirtying his suit on the molding brick, and came across a shed with rotting wood at the end.

The lady wanted him to come here?

Luhan internally debated whether or not to leave right then and there, and then realized he didn't have anything to lose. He was homeless, jobless, almost penniless, and his skin needed some sort of damn moisturizer. Preferably a sheet mask. Korea was known for the best fucking sheet masks, among other superb skincare products. Luhan wanted to try them, but they were kind of sort of expensive and he needed income before he could buy the luxurious products to his heart’s content.

(He needed new toner, essence, serum, creams… sue him for wanting beautiful and radiant skin, his supply was running out.)

Not wanting to touch the wood, he tentatively pushed open the door with a dress shoe-clad foot.

A rush of stale air came rushing forth. The place smelled damp and revolting. Luhan coughed and rubbed his eyes.

A green light blinked in the darkness, which Luhan found to be odd. Technology in a shitty ass shack?

Frowning, he examined the light, then realized it was a security device set upon the wall. With unsure fingers, he pulled out the business card Minseok had given him and inserted it in the slot.

The wall in the back opened with a creak, showing that the shed was merely an entryway to the true home.

The brightness from the outside light nearly blinded him. He stepped out of the shed, meeting fresh air and dazzling sky cleared of pollution.

For a moment, he just reveled in the atmosphere of him surroundings.

The place was huge.

The flowers were so pretty, they looked artificial. From the looks of the front yard, quite a sum had been spent on landscaping. And with no doubt there was security everywhere… the lawn looked like alarms would set off if one set foot on it. The house had popped out of a Victorian setting: grand, at least two floors, painted in pale blue and cream white. It was as if that area had completely been cut off from the rest of South Korea—it didn't belong, completely contrasting with the trendy and crowded country.

Luhan quickly thanked every deity he could think of for landing him a job with a rich person.

He stepped up onto the porch and rang the doorbell, waiting a few seconds for a response.

No one came.

He didn't want to seem rude, so he refrained from ringing it again. After ten minutes though, he knew there was a problem.

Luhan pushed the button again.

Still no response.

…He was so fucked. Had he been stood up?

He groaned. He knew it was too good to be true. And the worst part was, he had nowhere to go afterwards… of course, he had the choice to walk back to the hotel, but he barely had enough money to stay for another week.

And he had wasted cash on the cab fare.

Just his luck.

Sighing and sitting on the front steps, he kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned the two top buttons of his shirt. It was  _hot._  He deeply missed the taxi's air conditioning, and didn't want to risk changing, no matter how deserted the place seemed. Luhan secretly hoped that Minseok would soon show up. He didn't look like the type to deceive.

He knew he was just grasping at loose straws. Most likely, he had been duped. _Again._ There was no job offer for him. And once the real owners showed up, he would need to explain himself.

Luhan buried his face in his hands in frustration. Why was he so goddamn gullible?

Leaning against the pillar and setting his suitcase off to the side, Luhan figured he would just wait it out until someone arrived. Maybe they would be nice enough to provide him with some money for the ride back.

His eyelids grew heavy. He hadn't achieved his normal nine-hour sleep regimen the previous night, and the exhaustion had finally caught up to him.

"I'm going to sleep," he mumbled to no one in particular, and dozed off in the summer sun, belongings by his side, unknowing of the meeting that would come mere hours after.

 

**⚣**

 

Minseok had told him to head home first, since he wanted to buy some things at the store. Sehun didn't question him and walked back from the studio, drawing stares like he always did.

When he finally reached the outskirts of his house, he was surprised to feel a change in the atmosphere, something different. The safe refuge he was anticipating was altered in some way. The place felt brighter, even though the sun was slowly beginning to dip lower.

Then he noticed a figure lounging in front of his door.

His first feeling was shock. His house was practically unknown, save for the old woman who guarded their secret (they  _were_ using her shed as a secret passageway after all). And yet, someone had discovered it? And had the necessary card to get in?

Sehun was instantly suspicious.

Upon closer inspection, he found out the person was a sleeping guy.

In one glance, he believed him to be an overly zealous fanboy. He was about to call Minseok to have him removed from the premises, then decided better of it. He couldn't add more work to his load—he would take care of this issue himself.

With confident strides, Sehun got nearer and nearer to the stranger, finally able to observe him.

He caught sight of the mysterious guy’s face, and his heart nearly leaped out of his chest.

Bad memories came flashing back.

What were the odds?

It was him.

_Him._

The fucker from the plane.

The one who had upchucked his breakfast onto his lap and failed to apologize.

He was dressed in business wear despite the hot weather, dark blonde hair holding paler tints in the sun. His skin was fair, and he was barefoot.

Dress shoes lay next to him (holy shit Sehun had modeled that shoe brand once and he knew it was costly, and yet _Vomit Guy_ , of all people, had a pair?), discarded without a delay. The top couple buttons of the blonde’s shirt were unbuttoned, revealing milky white skin and sharp collarbones. Sehun resisted the strong urge to blush. He wasn’t some immature school girl.

But overall, the scene was picturesque and strangely calming. Yet, what Sehun found odd was the suitcase next to him, almost as if he was a wandering gypsy, looking for a place to stay.

 _Speculations can come later,_  he thought, shaking his head to dispel the thoughts. Sehun did know one thing though: he didn't belong on his front fucking porch.

"Wake up," Sehun said coldly, glaring at him beneath his shades.

The effeminate man sat up and yawned, wiping at his eyes. He blinked a few times, obviously a bit disoriented. Then he saw Sehun and scrunched his eyebrows in concentration, like he was trying to remember something.

And then he did, scrambling and jumping to his feet, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

"You!"

Ah. So, he did know.

"Yes, me. Who the  _hell_  are you, and what are you doing at my house?"

The person on _Sehun’s lawn_ gained his composure in an instant, face quickly becoming the smirking one the idol had seen on the plane. From his crossed arms and straight back, his body language told Sehun he wasn't going to back down easily. "I'm homeless. What's it to you?" the other male, who Sehun now deemed a squatter, replied, sitting back down as if simply to defy him.

He certainly didn't look homeless. From further inspection, Sehun estimated his entire ensemble was worth quite a bit of money (not just the shoes, Sehun quickly realized, but the entire set was for separate brands that he all modeled for and endorsed).

"It matters to me because you are on my  _private property._ " Sehun gritted his teeth, trying not to let too much of his irritation show.

"And who are you exactly?"

Sehun was so infuriated with his attitude that the blood rushed to his head. He dared to question him, _Sehun_? He was obviously unaware of the power and recognition Sehun held. Well, once he found out who Sehun was, that cretin would be kissing his feet, a total fanboy, regretting his mistakes for the rest of his fucking life.

With a quick snap, he whisked his glasses off and stared at him, mouth curling in a snarl. Now his entire face was displayed for the little squatter to see. Honestly, the guy didn't even know how truly lucky he was, able to meet a famous star face to face, _more than once_ , come to his house, and talk to him, _Wu Shixun_. Sehun had given him the chance, and now the idol was going to kick him  _so far away_ that he would never come back. "Know who I am now?"

There was a pause.

He shook his head. "Nope. Are you someone important by any chance?"

Sehun looked at the blonde’s face.

He wasn't joking.

"Wu Shixun?" he asked, incredulous. "That doesn't ring a bell?"

This guy was stupid.

"Oh!" he exclaimed.

Sehun smirked haughtily. Any second now, he would be at Sehun’s mercy—

"You're who Minseok was talking about!"

What?

"Minseok-hyung? He talked to you?" Sehun asked, hardly believing it. His butler and best friend had contacted this immature squatter? His responsible, understanding, butler? Impossible.

"Of course. How else do you think I found this place?" he snorted. "He gave me his business card."

Sehun took a moment to collect himself. Under what  _completely audacious_  circumstances would his butler ever call upon someone like _him_? This—this disrespectful, hotheaded dumbass—

"Yah, Sehunnie-ah, I see you've met Luhan!"

And there came the source of his dilemmas, coming up the path with his crutches with a bright and guileless smile.

Sparing the formalities, Sehun blew. "What is he  _doing here_?" he hissed, gritting his teeth and pointing at the despicable person _who was still sitting on his lawn with a smarmy ass smirk_ —

Minseok lifted an eyebrow and didn't answer Sehun straight away, instead unlocking the front door and gesturing for that… barbarian man to go in. Sehun clenched his fists in his pockets, upset and angry.

"I've decided to hire my helper for myself," Minseok hummed calmly once they were all indoors. Sehun kicked off his shoes in aggravation. He knew he was acting like a spoiled child by throwing a tantrum, but that _guy_ was the exact opposite of him.

Contrary to popular belief, opposites  _did not_ attract. Opposites made people want to rip out each other's throats.

He wanted oh-so-badly to shove the ass out the door.

(Fucking fuck, Sehun really wished he told Minseok about the plane incident. Then maybe he wouldn’t be offering random strangers jobs, much less _the culprit of the incident himself_.)

"Luhan doesn’t know a thing about you, as you’ve probably figured out since your disguise is off and your clothes are still intact," said Minseok, setting the bags he had brought with him on the floor. "This makes it better, right? He knows jack shit about your status and won’t try to possibly rape you in your sleep."

The _apparent new helper_ blinked in stupefaction. "What?" He was clearly confused.

But that didn't matter.

Sehun pursed his lips and refused to talk.

Minseok continued praising the pants-ruining idiot. "His math skills are amazing, and he'll definitely be able to take care of a lot of busy work that I clearly don't have the time to do anymore."

"Why _him_?" Sehun wanted to yell, but instead kept his mouth clamped shut, fuming within.

His best friend looked up at him, cocking his head to the side. "You seem to already hate him?"

Yes. He did. Very much. Sehun wanted no association with him whatsoever, he didn't want to look at him, talk to him, or even feel his presence.

His visage was making Sehun nauseous.

…He was a nine-point-one.

Sehun hated that he had to acknowledge it.

"Come on, Sehunnie-ah, give Luhan a chance," Minseok pleaded. "We can test him. It should be no problem."

That was a better idea. Sehun would crush this _Luhan_ immediately.

"Fine," Sehun hissed. "We'll do the usual." Then his attention was pointed to the blonde. "Just so you know, you don't pass this, we kick you out. It should be easy enough for you to understand."

The fire of a challenge burned in his eyes. "Bring it, _Sehunnie-ah_."

Sehun ignored the utter disrespect with the term of endearment only _Minseok_ was allowed to call him and opened a closet, dragging out a suitcase and various clothing items. There was only one way to pack the bag, so everything would fit. If he didn't get the right combination, he was done.

Sehun had gotten rid of the incompetent people with the first trial.

"Pack it," the idol ordered. "You have ten minutes. Go."

Immediately, he sat down on the floor to work, face furrowed in concentration. Sehun wanted to laugh. He was doing all the clothing wrong—the space wouldn't be enough with  _his_  method. The freeload-attempter was not going to make it.

"Call me in ten, hyung," he told Minseok, cheering a little internally as he left the foyer. He would fix himself some food for celebration when that _Luhan_ guy failed and went home crying, never able to bother him again. All Sehun had to do was wait ten minutes.

He had only finished half a cup of water when his hyung called him back. Sehun checked his watch, astounded to find the blonde abomination still had three minutes and twenty seconds left. Most who got past the first hurdle had used all the time he gave them. And even then, he had made the task more difficult by shaving off five minutes…

Sehun walked back to the foyer.

To his grudging astonishment, the suitcase was all packed.

Then only thing that could come out of his mouth was "You must have cheated."

He didn't put it past the guy to somehow hide clothing that wouldn't fit. He would try to make himself look over-capable, doing it under the time limit, but not too much as to arouse suspicion, and then Sehun would  _have_  to admit that he was well-rounded, but the brunet wouldn't,  _absolutely NOT—_

"I didn't cheat," he replied adamantly, rolling his eyes. "Ask him."

"He didn't, Sehun-ah," said Minseok, supporting the demon in disguise sitting on Sehun’s floor innocently. "You can check if you want, but Luhan’s not lying, promise."

The idol didn't want to believe it, so he sat down and unzipped the bag. It was the most organized Sehun had ever seen it. Not only were the clothes folded perfectly, but he  _had_  used all the space.

Instead of doing the usual and laying one shirt on top of another, filling the socks and other clothing in the pockets, he had gone a different way. The asshole had stacked the clothing into piles and then stuffed the socks into the nooks and crannies of the leftover spaces. This meant that there was still extra room for miscellaneous items in the pockets…

Sehun quickly checked again, and his suspicions were confirmed—there was indeed nothing in the pockets.

How did he…?

Sehun’s hatred level went up another notch.

"Fine," he said angrily, "You pass this one. But I'm still not going to hire you, understand? I will make you go through  _hell and back_  before I even  _consider_  it."

"Fine," the spastic blonde snapped back, kicking the packed suitcase away. "I'll go through hell and back _and_ bring back a souvenir. And then you'd better hire me and eat your fucking words."

 

**⚣**

 

The jerk—Sehun, Luhan learned—wasn't kidding when he told his that. Luhan was physically and mentally exhausted after the tasks, and about to blow a fucking fuse. The he-devil had made him draw up schedules for some odd reason, calculate budgets and times, and match outfits based on memorization.

Then there were the endurance tests—Luhan had stayed up for seventy-two hours without coffee (it had been the hardest one for him), meanwhile running errands to and from the stores nearby. He had been forced to clean with nothing other than a mop, water, and tissue paper. Luhan had to read thirty articles on show biz and summarize the information within two minutes.

And the entire time, it was like he was enjoying Luhan’s suffering, that little _shit_.

He saw that one coming… the man-child clearly despised him with every fiber of his being. Well, Luhan  _had_  thrown up on him on the plane. But the more Luhan thought about it, the more he realized _Sehun deserved it_. That brat needed to have a little trouble in his life.

And how he desired to be the source of it.

Luhan had to admit, Sehun’s assessments were taking him to the point of death. The brat was making it as difficult as possible for him to pass, his determination undoubtedly rivaling his. He had gotten far, but…

Finally, his body was at its limits, and he had passed out, eyelids dropping like lead from the sky.

 

**⚣**

"I'm surprised Luhan passed so many. He might be more capable than I thought at first."

"I don't like him."

"You can't deny that he's probably the best one we've got so far, Sehun-ah."

Silence.

"I still don't like him."

"Why? Because you had to make him do tasks that you've never made any of the others do? Because you had to take out the hardest ones for him—and then he passed them?"

"No. He's just…"

"Different. Yes, he is. And I think that's what we need right now… a  _change._  Sehunnie, Luhan doesn't know who you are. He won't judge."

"How do you know?"

"I don't. I'm just asking for you to trust me. I may sound self-centered, but I haven't let you down yet, and I don't plan to. We'll hire him."

There was a collective sigh, and a slump into a chair. "You need the help, don't you?"

"It would make my job a bit easier, yep."

"I'll do it for you then. Not because I like him."

"Yah, that’s my Sehunnie!" A hand reached up to ruffle Sehun’s hair.

A pause hung in the air.

"He bothers me. His tone reeks of high breeding despite his crude word choice…so he's probably expensive."

"A little."

"How much are we talking here?"

"He wants two hundred thousand won a week."

"Like hell he's getting that much."

"And room and board."

"What does he take me for? An idiot?"

"Judging from his attitude towards you, yes."

 

**⚣**

The high ceiling was spinning when he woke up. Luhan blinked to steady his vision and checked out the room. It was spacious, with cream walls and a red desk and chair set, a closet of dark wood in the corner. The white curtains were shut.

His suitcase was beside the door.

Luhan pulled himself out of the bed and yawned. He had spent over three days at the mansion and knew precisely where he was in the house—right near the stairwell, three rooms away from Sehun’s, bathroom on the left.

But the question still nagged in his mind… was he not enough? Was the (figuratively) little brat not satisfied with all the damn work he put in? The trial had ended for now, and the results were tentative. It had been the hardest interview he had ever been in. Hell was definitely fucking moderate in respect to what Luhan endured. He only hoped that he had met the requirements, as high as they were.

He followed the voices into the kitchen, looking like a complete wreck: deep dark circles still under his eyes contrasted by his unusually pasty skin, hair in disarray. He cracked a weak smile at Minseok and shot a glare at Sehun.

The man-child glared right back, crossing his arms and squaring his shoulders.

"Hello, Luhannie," said Minseok brightly. "You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?"

Luhan shook his head. "Not at all, go ahead."

"You can call me any nickname you want," Minseok continued. "Anyway, I hope you enjoyed your sleep. Sit down, we were just discussing you."

"We're hiring you," Sehun cut in bluntly. "I'm not fond of the idea, but I can't deny the fact that you're suited for the job."

Luhan couldn't believe it. Instantly, he was energetic and hardly able to keep his legs still when he sat down. _He did it._ Without his parents, without anyone, he was going to build his reputation back again, and arrive back in China as a rich ass man—

"Since you're homeless," Sehun said dryly, "Half your pay will be room and board. A quarter will be food. And the rest will be in cash. That's the deal."

"And how much is the quarter in cash?" Luhan asked. The lodging and meals idea appealed to him. The house was certainly beautiful—he wouldn't mind living in it. And Minseok's cooking was better than he had ever imagined.

"The quarter is around forty-million won. Every three weeks."

That was not a lot of money.

He was on guard again.

"I'm going to have to ask if you could reconsider—"

"There is no reconsidering. I call the shots here. You either take it or leave it. You have three minutes."

Luhan mentally made a pros and cons list and debated it. Only a minute passed when he reluctantly nodded, the pros clearly killing off the cons in one blow. "Fine."

Then a question arose. He had been meaning to ask it for a while but had chosen to put it off until he had been accepted.

And now was the time.

"What's my job, exactly?"

Sehun's expression grew sadistic.

Luhan refrained from gulping. His gut was telling him he was in some deep shit. Sehun’s normal, thin-lipped smirk had grown, like the he-devil had some evil and torturous plans waiting for him.

"A maid. Congratulations, _Luhannie_."

He so  _did not_  come to Korea for this.

 

**⚣**

Luhan’s to-do list was growing at an alarming rate. He was running around constantly, even if Minseok and the overgrown brat—uh, his new boss—weren't home.

He had laundry to do, as Sehun seemed to enjoy changing into five outfits a day, he had cleaning around the house, organization for the next day's schedule, grocery shopping, and plane tickets to buy for their busy schedules. This was just a portion of it all.

But there was something that set his dignity way below the bar. If he wasn't so pressed for money, he would have quit in a heartbeat.

It was a chore that he desired never to repeat again.

 

**⚣**

He had thought it was a joke at first. But when he was locked in the bathroom with a man-child that was proceeding to strip his clothes, Luhan realized with utter horror that it wasn't.

"Oh, I almost forgot."

Sehun began digging in drawers, finally passing the other male a black slip of fabric.

Luhan took it from him and looked at it. Then looked at him.

"What is this for, exactly?"

"Blindfold," he grunted.

Luhan had never been more grateful. Now his fragile eyes wouldn't be burned by the atrocious guy's body, which he absolutely wanted to see no part of.

Never mind that on the days where Sehun wore white shirts and came back from dance practice (not that Luhan knew it was dance practice, because _Sehun never told Luhan a damn thing about his life_ ) drenched in sweat, Luhan could see the now translucent shirt sticking to Sehun’s very toned and fit body that Luhan was most certainly not ogling.

So, with utmost care, he tied it tight around his head, and his world was enveloped in darkness.

"Now grab the shampoo and conditioner. Not the peach one, but the other one."

And how was he supposed to even find the bottles? Fucking brat made everything harder for him.

Luhan heard him sigh in annoyance. "Do I seriously have to do everything for you?" Sehun grumbled. "Take three steps to your left, once you hit the stand go to the third shelf, sniff till you find the right one."

Did Luhan look like a fucking police dog to him?

The water splashed calmly when Sehun stepped in the tub.

Luhan took a step and tripped over the ledge nearby.

It was going to be a long day.

 

**⚣**

"Hey, Minseok?"

"Yes, Luhan?"

"How old is Sehun?"

"In Korea, eighteen. Internationally, seventeen. Why?"

"Holy shit, the brat’s a fucking fetus what the fuck. Why isn’t he going to high school like all other kids his age?"

"Well, he is taking courses online at the moment. Academics isn’t really his strong suit though. You might have to help tutor him one day."

"I feel like I’m actually a babysitter. I can’t believe Sehun’s still a _minor_. But even _minors_ know how to bathe themselves. Like damn, my little cousin is more mature than him."

"That’s just Sehun being Sehun, I guess. He’ll mature, I’m sure."

"He’d _better_ , or I might just fucking commit."

 

**⚣**

 

Hell, Luhan didn't even know what Sehun did for a living. The demonic man-child would leave at the crack of dawn and come back utterly exhausted. Sometimes, he didn't see the brunet for a couple of days (not that he minded it).

Nevertheless, he was forced to do his crude jobs. The bleach had made his hands so dry; if he didn't have his hand cream with him, then he didn't know how he was going to survive. (Let it be said that Luhan cared very much about skincare.)

He swept and mopped every single day and shopped for dumb miscellaneous items that he was sure Sehun made him buy simply to watch him suffer. And when his paycheck finally arrived with forty-million won, he immediately spent it all on a care package for himself and a book to keep him entertained.

Really, television was making his intelligence wither. Especially with all those dumbass idols prancing around every time he flipped through the channels. Not to mention, the fluorescent screen was sure to burn his eyeballs and reduce his 20/20 vision.

Luhan sighed and checked an item off his "to-do" list for that day. Hopefully he’d never have to associate with those "idols." There was enough for him to do at the mansion. He had gotten used to the high tempo life his boss was living, whatever it was that kept the he-devil from arriving at the home in a normal schedule. His muscles, after being strained enough for the first few days, were slowly growing accustomed to the constant running and lifting and arm movements. His bed was comfortable every night.

Except for the hair-washing and the complete humiliation he was subject to each time he saw Sehun’s face, Luhan was pretty well off at the Oh Estate.

And then Minseok decided to get sick.

(Why, Minseok, why.)

 

**⚣**

"I’ll probably be better within the next couple days, Sehunnie, don’t worry. Still, your schedule is probably impossible to keep up without me, and I kind of doubt anyone's willing to fill in for my position at such a hasty notice," Minseok said.

He looked strong in bed, skin flushed due to his sickness. Sehun sighed and sat down. It always happened once a year—and for those few days when Minseok was sick, it was like hell.

His maid had gone to the drugstore for medicine. As much as he forgot sometimes, Minseok  _was_  human, and was prone to things like viruses and infections. Sehun knew he was always guilty of taking his best friend for granted. Of course, the brunet was pretty sure he just had a cold, but he didn't want Minseok to pass out while driving or anything.

"I'm back," Luhan called, quickly shoving Sehun out of his spot and taking out the medicine. Shocked, he toppled over, landing on the ground as Luhan stole his seat near Minseok. From his position on the floor, Sehun saw the smirk in Luhan’s eyes as he mocked him, popping out the gelled pills.

Nonetheless, Luhan seemed to grasp his job quickly—the tray besides him had a steaming hot cup of honey lemon green tea, brewed the way Minseok liked it. He thanked Luhan and swallowed the pills, and the blonde left, but not before letting out a little laugh of superiority.

Sehun got up in a flash. "I'm firing him. I am  _so_  firing him."

Minseok sipped the soothing tea calmly. "Calm down, Sehun-ah. He's filling in for me today."

If possible, Sehun's jaw dropped even lower. "He can't even  _drive._ How in the world am I going to complete my list if he can't even get me to the place?"

Minseok sipped his tea again. "There are things called buses and trains. I think you know what they are. He would have found out what you did for a living eventually, you know. Not that he would like it or anything—you've seen the way he glares at the TV when CHINGULINE comes on."

"Those four idiots shouldn't even be on any channels," Sehun muttered petulantly.

For once, he was glad Luhan hated CHINGULINE as much as he did.

The rising stars were a threat to Sehun's ongoing fame. The similarity in personality between him and the catty leader of the four-member group CHINGULINE, Chen (also known as Kim Jongdae), had begun splitting fans, and the fact that they were from rival companies didn't help either. While Sehun prided himself on his eternally prickly exterior (fangirls seemed to believe it made him _hard to get_ ), Jongdae took pride in sporting a, quote and unquote, “sly and playboy-esque but also charming and gentlemanly demeanor.”

Biggest bullshit that ever was, in Sehun’s opinion. Those words were contradicting as fuck; how did Jongdae even think that made sense? And that infuriating cat-like curl of his lips simply pissed Sehun off to no end.

Sehun hated the man more than he hated his new _maid_.

That was saying something.

"But that's beside the point," Minseok continued, looking at Sehun skeptically. "He's capable enough to successfully get you where you need to go. He drew up the schedule last night, anyways."

"I don't want him with me," protested Sehun, thought he knew it was futile.

Minseok laughed, and then got into a mild coughing fit. When he finally took a breath, he said, "You act like such a kid, Sehunnie. Now go—your stylist is expecting you soon."

Sehun continued to sulk. "I really don't want to go with him."

His hyung gave him a reproving look, chiding him. "You have way too many things planned today to sacrifice. Don't be selfish."

Sehun pursed his lips and crossed his arms in protest. "Fine."

It would be the worst mistake of his life.

 

**⚣**

Luhan had managed to do everything so perfectly that it set Sehun's teeth on edge. They had arrived at the salon on time, which hadn't happened in months. The blonde knew which train to get on, which station to get off at, and hailed a taxi that took them to his hairdresser in record time. Then they had set off for the variety show Sehun was supposed to guest on. Like usual, he had charmed everyone.

But some of his coworkers were more interested in Luhan than they were with him.

He had brushed off their advances with as much grace and dignity as Sehun would have.

Afterwards, Luhan had proven he  _was_ capable of rearranging a schedule in a brief moment. The recording for Sehun's new song had been postponed for a day that was packed beyond belief. With only one phone call, Luhan had inserted the new event and moved another to a more convenient location.

And most surprisingly, Luhan did it like he had been doing it every day of his life.

Luhan didn't seem stunned at the high celebrities either. Well, Sehun doubted that he even knew who half of them were, but he certainly wasn't that dumb as to not realize that he was in the presence of some very influential people.

Sehun wanted so badly to rub it in his face.

_I know more famous people than you, high-strung, mock royalty asshole._

And he knew Luhan would care about that, because hell, everything that came out of his mouth the guy had a problem with.

And Sehun always had a problem with him.

They sat on the bus, ready to head off to the next location for a radio broadcast. Luhan opted to sit as far away from Sehun as possible, which was a good decision on his part since Sehun was  _sick_  of seeing his pretty but still infuriating face. Oddly enough, he hadn't asked a single question about the nature of his occupation, instead choosing to flip through the list he had drawn up for the next day, penning things in and searching up names and numbers on his phone. All the while, his back stayed ramrod straight, black frames perched on his nose, hair swept back. His posture emanated the aura of a high-class citizen.

Sehun decided to piss him off and slouched in his seat, stuffing his hands unceremoniously in his pockets. He earned a reproachful glare, which he happily accepted as a compliment.

Finally, Luhan sighed and pushed the papers into his bag, got up, and got into his personal space by sitting next to him.

He glared at the blonde.

Why did he move? Sehun didn't desire his presence any more than he wanted it one month ago.

"You're famous, aren't you."

So, he wasn't  _that_  stupid.

"Took you long enough to figure out."

Luhan grumbled. "I hate famous people."

Sehun laughed a little on the inside. "Well, that's just perfect, since I hate you."

His eyes narrowed accusingly. "Oh, do you? May I remind you who's been helping you wash your filthy body for this month? That's right, me. And what I don't understand is how you can be a full-grown adult and still not know how to bathe yourself. I'm getting paid to babysit an overgrown fucking child."

"That's the best taunt you could come up with?"

"It's enough to get rid of  _you._ "

He was going to fire him.

Definitely.

_Forever._

The bus skidded to a stop, and Luhan gave a little nod with his head. "This is the stop. Get off, or I'm leaving you behind. And I wouldn't want to betray Minseok's trust or anything."

Sehun didn't answer him with words. Luhan’s mouth needed to shut itself, or he would clamp it shut with some staples and a hot glue gun. He harshly bumped Luhan’s shoulder on his way out and trudged down the steps. He gave out a slight hiss of pain and glared harshly but didn't say anything.

When would he just get the hint and quit? It would make things so much easier.

But his determination and stubborn streak rivaled Sehun’s, and neither person was willing to give up first.

They arrived at the radio broadcasting center, where Sehun's fans were already congregating to see him. He put on his casual face and smiled, shaking hands and taking gifts and letters, carefully placing them in Luhan's bag. While he may have seemed cold and arrogant (which he was…occasionally), Sehun was by no means disrespectful. And he made it top priority to treat his fans with the maturity of a true star.

With a couple of bows and introductions, he made his way into the recording room, where the radio host was busy setting up the microphones. Her dark violet dyed hair was illuminated under the fluorescent lights. It was the first time Sehun had shown up at this particular station and gave a gentle cough to show his presence.

The girl turned around.

Sehun's eyes widened.

Ten.

She was a ten.

He had never, in all his years, seen such a perfect ten before.

"Hi," she said, smiling shyly and extending a hand for him to shake, "I'm Bae Joohyun. Thanks for coming."

He shook his hand. "The pleasure's all mine."

From the other side of the room, Luhan rolled his eyes.

"Your script is on the seat," she said, gesturing towards the semicircle table in front of his. "When you get the chance, please scan through it. Also, I go by Irene when cameras are rolling." Joohyun winked.

Beautiful  _and_  professional.

Sehun sat down and perused the script. It was lighthearted and entertaining, filled with segments he was comfortable with. It would be an easy enough recording.

"Well, when you're ready," Joohyun said brightly, propping her headphones on her head.

Sehun nodded, trying not to stare at her too much. "Now is good."

He flipped the switch, and they were on air.

 

**⚣**

 

As atrocious as his face, mannerisms, and flirting techniques were, Luhan could not deny that Wu Shixun, aka Oh Sehun, had the sexiest voice he had ever heard. The moment the music coursed through his headphones, his eyes fluttered shut and his mouth opened.

And Luhan’s jaw nearly dropped in astonishment.

His voice was both fruity and husky, a perfect middle ground of baritone. And the way he breathed out the words and changed his pacing and increased and decreased the sound was so superb, Luhan was astounded. Clearly, the little brat had talent.

And for once, he thought maybe he deserved to be a star.

God, if Luhan didn't hate him so much he might have even been a  _fan._

The mere thought set his teeth on edge. How could he not have known? It was obvious that his naivety and complete disregard towards Sehun’s occupation were the main reason they hired his ass. Not that Luhan was against it or anything (Minseok's cooking was five-star quality), but he wasn't too keen on working under him.

And apparently, he was more than just "normal" famous. Sehun was at the top of his popularity—even with his disguise on the bus, people craned their necks and adjusted their glasses to get a better look. His co-stars respected and admired him, often times asking how his promotions in China were going. And his fans were  _everywhere_. They swarmed the streets, the houses, practically every nook and inch and cranny in Korea.

Luhan hated people like him.

But hot damn, his voice reminded him of chocolate silk pie.

Delicious.

Well, if it wasn't attached to a smug face and an arrogant personality.

And the radio host? Well, Luhan wanted to dislike her with every fiber of his being, but it just wasn't possible. (She was good-looking, Luhan admitted grudgingly. A cute and dainty looking girl. It was really too bad Luhan wasn’t into girls like that.) His emotions were conflicted; the girl just seemed  _too_  perfect to be real that he wanted to hate her. But she was too nice to be hated, so Luhan kept his mouth shut. Bae Joohyun had the most peaceful voice, soothing and calm. She was pretty, very pretty, at least semi-intelligent from the nature of her script, and Sehun was totally infatuated with her.

Luhan allowed a little smirk to grace his features.

Perfect blackmail material.

 

**⚣**

An hour passed and Sehun was finished. Joohyun thanked him for his time, which he cordially declined and replied with a characteristic, "anytime."

Luhan rolled his shoulders impatiently as Sehun loitered in the doorway, still finding time to make small talk with Joohyun. "Come on, we have to go to our next schedule. The world isn't going to stop for your personal affairs."

"Ooh, harsh," Joohyun teased, winking. "He's all yours. And uhm, Sehun—" she pulled out a slip of paper and pressed it into his hand. "If you would ever like to stop by and do this again, I would love to hear from you. Without going through the massive paperwork to get you on my show." She laughed and gave a little wave of her fingers, to which Sehun replied to with a nod of his head.

"Thank you for the offer. I will consider it."

The moment they were out the door, Sehun pulled out his cell phone and began punching in the numbers from the paper Joohyun had given him. Luhan eyed him warily. He wasn't a super genius by any means, but he had a general idea of what was coming next.

"Schedule another show with her. Preferably this month before the photo shoot."

Luhan sighed. "Which one?"

"About three weeks from now, Byeollight."

"That's too risky to move," he protested. Luhan had overheard Minseok complaining (which was rare) about how long it took him to grab a spot with that magazine. They were too prestigious to shift the schedule just so Sehun could meet up with some purple-haired future love interest. "I can't let you do that. Listen, we'll find another day. Why does it have to be before the photo shoot anyways? We can do it later."

Sehun pursed his lips unattractively as an answer.

Luhan caught on quick and laughed. Really? He was afraid Joohyun would forget him in the time span of a month?

"I want it before the shoot."

Luhan stopped walking so that Sehun, caught unawares, bumped into his back. He turned around, eyes livid. "Listen up, spoiled prince," he hissed. "We can't always get what we want. You understand? Sticking that little radio show in will screw everything up: everything Minseok and I planned for the past  _month_. Your busy life does not allow for it. So just hold on, till after the shoot, and then I'll pen this in. You can visit your beloved new noona’s show a hundred times, meet her on dates, serenade her on a balcony—whatever floats your boat. But it's going to be  _after the photo shoot is over._ "

Sehun didn't know what it was like to lose everything in one go. He didn't know what Luhan forced himself to get into to stay at the same lifestyle.

The brat knew nothing.

Luhan kept walking when his speech was over.

"I hate you."

He turned to face him again, face muscles smiling despite the bubbling anger beneath. "Without me, you would have gotten nothing done this past month. I deserve a pay raise."

 

**⚣**

It was the day of the shoot, and Sehun could not wait for it to be over. He had got up early, surprised to see that Luhan was awake before him and already microwaving the food Minseok had made. He raised an eyebrow. "Good to see you up. We're meeting your stylist in an hour. Don't be late."

Ever since the radio day, Minseok had decided that Luhan was definitely good enough to take over the part of manager. He had decided Luhan was far more suited to take over, and more efficiently than Minseok ever did it. Sehun could only be respectful of his butler's decision and limited the contract to just cooking and a bit of other odd jobs. Of course, Minseok was still the main man to go to when they had a question about handling certain people, but overall, Luhan had taken over. And now, he was in Sehun’s life 24/7—he looked at his modeling, his speaking skills, variety show techniques—everything. And he would always criticize, which drove him crazy.

Luhan was a  _commoner_. He shouldn't have known  _anything_  about the show biz world.

But worst of all, Sehun was getting used to his presence.

"Hurry up, you slow ass. They aren't going to wait an extra ten minutes just because you lollygag and fail at brushing your teeth. Really. You should be able to take care of yourself."

He was more annoying than his mother, and yet, pushed him harder than anyone.

"Get your ass out the door," Luhan ordered.

"How dare you talk to me in that way—"

"I'm your manager now. Unless you want to fail at life, get out."

Sehun could only grit his teeth and obey him. The chill of the autumn morning seeped through his clothes as they walked to the bus stop. He was upset that he still didn't know how to drive (it made it so much more work), but he was forced to shut up and not complain.

It felt like Sehun's rights were being more and more suppressed with his arrival in his life.

The vehicle arrived, and they stepped on.

Sehun thought it would be a modeling shoot like any other.

He didn't know how seriously wrong he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdfghjkl so here we are at chapter 2. hoo boiii. so every week saturday or sunday it is for them updates? but y'all hERE IT IS. i think it's slightly shorter tho, rip. aaaanyway i actually have no idea what else to say except leave a kudos and maybe comment? uhm yeAH. i was doing this instead of writing a history essay and watching a shakespeare conspiracy documentary so haha kill me please. kms. those are kim minseok's initials too tho hooooo. minseok probably wants to lowkey murder sehun and luhan tho lmao. ily all and thank you for reading this mess ;;


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